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As soon as Ian came around the tent, the trumpets sounded. That was a piece of luck. It permitted him to start his horse some dozen yards from the head of the list. Another time and place or against another man, Ian might not have seized the advantage. Now, he jabbed his horse hard and fewtered his lance as he moved. There was no need to look for weaknesses; he doubted his opponent had any. |
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The shock was appalling. Ian heard his saddletree creak as he slammed back against it, but his arm held, his own lance held. His teeth clenched as he felt his body lift, and he forced himself forward against the pressure. Crack! The sound was as sweet as an angel's voice, and the pressure against him released suddenly. Another crack. That was not so sweet. His own lance splintered also. He heard the roar of appreciation from the crowd as the forward leap of his destrier saved him from falling forward. One pass. |
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Ian brought his horse up short, turned and galloped back to seize a new lance. The wine burned in his blood. He was ready before Henry and deliberately fretted the impatient stallion, so that the moment the other started and he could loosen his rein, it leapt forward almost at a full gallop. The second shock, to his surprise, was not so bad. He was not even moved in his seat and, although he did not unseat his opponent either, he did slat off the lance and have the pleasure of seeing Henry twisted under the impact of his own spear. |
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The third time it was Henry who started first. Ian was a little surprised, because owain had been right at the head of the lists with his fresh lance. Even the gray devil Ian was riding could not compensate for the speed Henry's horse had developed. Desperately, Ian swung his legs back a little to brace against the impact better. His knee screamed as he gripped the saddle, but his eyes remained fixed on the point of the bobbing |
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